The Pigeon Project (13 page)

“Was he tall or short?” Major Kedrov asked impatiently.

“He was shorter than Pashal. It is not much, but it is something.”

“I do not trust your monk’s description,” said Major Kedrov. “It would be a waste of time to hunt for the abductor. The one to hunt for is Professor MacDonald. We know exactly what he looks like.” He tapped a portfolio on the floor leaning against the chair. “I have the professor’s photograph from our files.”

“We can use that immediately!” Trevisan, the Venice police superintendent, exclaimed.

“You shall have it,” said Major Kedrov. He addressed Colonel Cutrone again. “I want to hear the rest of what happened last night. After the guard fired his shots, what happened next?”

”Everyone acted with dispatch,” said Colonel Cutrone calmly. “Antonio did not even bother with the injured monk. He rushed back into the monastery and awakened Mr. Veksler, who telephoned me at my apartment in Venice. I saw the gravity of the situation at once. These were dangerous minutes when MacDonald might slip away. The vital thing was to contain him in Venice. I quickly contacted our
stazioni
—our branch buildings and carabinieri—at Mestre, the Lido, Cannaregio, Castello—all of them, everywhere. I alerted our barracks at San Zaccaria. Within fifteen minutes, maybe less, we had thrown a net around Venice. By ten-thirty, every exit had been stopped—the fugitive could not go by auto from Piazzale Roma, by train from the depot, by air from Marco Polo, by sea from the Lido and the other outlets. Our water patrols were almost everywhere, instantly. Gentlemen, we have our professor trapped in this city.”

“Now we must catch him,” said Major Kedrov.

“We shall,” said Colonel Cutrone. “That is why I called our mayor and suggested this emergency meeting. To plan a concerted action that will flush out our—our fugitive.”

Major Kedrov came to his feet. He looked at the others. “All of you, you understand the importance of the secret Professor MacDonald is carrying?”

Mayor Accardi pulled his swivel chair to his desk. “Yes, Major. Mr. Veksler, through Colonel Cutrone, has apprised each of us of the facts about the discovery.”

“MacDonald has really discovered how to eliminate the leading fatal diseases,” Major Kedrov went on compulsively, “and how to slow down the aging cells with shots that inject a formula he calls C-98. There has never been anything like it in the world. Imagine how it will be if you can live to the age of 150.”

“We know how it will be with you,” Mayor Accardi said shrewdly. “You want MacDonald and his formula for yourselves. It will make you happy.” He made a broad gesture. “But what about us?” Then he added quickly, “Of course, we cooperate with you willingly, because we are political allies, comrades. But for this show of friendship, I wonder what will happen to us?”

The question hung in the air a moment. All eyes were on Major Kedrov. He considered Accardi, then moved closer to the desk. “You,” he said, “you will be taken care of. Everyone in this room will have a special priority. Once our scientists have the formula from MacDonald, and after our leaders—the premier, Politburo, Lenin Prize winners—are given their shots, you will be next. When we say this discovery belongs to the Soviet Union, we also mean the allies and friends of the Soviet Union. Have no concern. I give you my pledge.”

“It is understood and accepted,” said the mayor. Major Kedrov turned to the others. “The real business at hand, I repeat, is that we must go about catching MacDonald. How do you propose to do it?”

“I will answer you,” said Colonel Cutrone, rising. He took the pointer from the deputy mayor and walked to the map. “The first thing to be done is to see that Venice is airtight. Last night, working against time, I stopped up every obvious exit. But we must be aware of two facts. The first, that Venice has many less obvious exits. See”—his darting pointer touched numerous spots on the map—“here and here and here. We have our net, but there are still holes in it. The second fact to know is that we are dealing with a daring and cunning enemy. The ones who staged the rescue last night were clever. We cannot underestimate them. So, if there are holes in our net, you can be sure they will discover them soon.” He looked at the Russian major. “Therefore, our immediate primary job is to see that MacDonald does not get away. To make certain, I am taking action as soon as it is daylight. I will call the home secretary in Rome and I will request and obtain additional carabinieri from all nearby cities—Padua, Milan, so forth. By noon today, or a few hours later, every obscure exit involving land, sea, air will be closed. It will be impossible for MacDonald to escape.”

Colonel Cutrone left the map, tossed the pointer to Deputy Mayor Santin, then went to the desk.

“Your Honor,” he said, “to contain MacDonald, but far more important, to contain his secret—to see that he does not send it to the outside world by some other means—will require, I am afraid, a certain amount of sacrifice from you, your town councillors, and the city’s merchants.” He paused. “All traffic into and out of Venice must cease at the crack of dawn.”

Mayor Accardi appeared startled. “What are you saying? That cannot be!”

“It must be,” said Colonel Cutrone emphatically. “No one in Venice at this moment will be allowed to leave. We can watch for MacDonald at every exit, but we cannot watch for some unknown person carrying his formula out of here. No one leaves for five or six days—we should flush out MacDonald in that time, if lucky earlier—but no one leaves. That means tourists wanting to go home, that means laborers who commute to the factories at Mestre—everyone is stuck until we let them go.”

“There’ll be riots.”

“Let there be riots. We may give special dispensation to a person or two we know, who would have to get direct permission, written permission, from you personally. But basically, no person may set foot outside of Venice until our matter is settled. But that is not all. No one must be allowed to come in—”

Mayor Accardi jumped out of his chair. “That is madness, Cutrone! You go too far. This is the height of our tourist season. Our economy is based on the tourists who pour in now. Keep them out and you ruin us!”

“It will not ruin you. Five or six days won’t hurt you at all.”

“But why is this necessary? Not let people out, that I understand. But not let them in—?”

“There are many reasons. One is that some of MacDonald’s important friends might get in, and we’d have no way to keep them from helping him or announcing his discovery to the world. Another is, once thousands more people enter our city, we cannot let them out for the duration of this hunt, and it will give us too many people to deal with, to screen. Your Honor, it has to be done my way or it cannot be done at all.”

Mayor Accardi sank back into his chair, dragged out a handkerchief, wiped his damp brow. “All right. It will be done.” He sighed. “This is reaching 150 the hard way.”

“Cutrone,” someone called from the semicircle. It was Ragazzi, the local Communist leader. “How do you explain this to the people—to our 100,000 Venetians, to our 50,000 or more tourists suddenly confined here? You can’t tell them you are looking for a scientist who has found the secret of longevity. The capitalist world would fall on us, force us to free him. What will you tell them? You must have a reasonable explanation for what will seem to most an unreasonable quarantine. What will be your explanation?”

Colonel Cutrone nodded. “Si, I have already thought of that. I ransacked my mind for a plausible cover story. At first, I thought we might say we are searching for a desperado who has stolen one of our priceless Venetian masterpieces, a Titian perhaps, and we must catch him before he gets away. Then I decided that most people would not think such a robbery justified our drastic action. Rejecting that story led me to a cover story I feel will hold up.” He surveyed the others. “An American spy, working against our Communist government, has stolen our plans for a secret weapon, defensive weapon, an anti-guided-missile device. He—”

“One moment,” Kedrov interrupted. “I don’t like calling him an American spy. That might bring inquiries from the United States government and press.”

“The United States won’t know about it.”

“Are you suggesting a news blackout?” said the Russian.

“An entire communications blackout. No private telegrams or letters are to leave Venice this week. No wire-service stories. I think we can all agree on that.”

“But afterward,” Kedrov persisted. “We must look ahead. When we’ve caught our—our so-called spy—and lifted the travel and news bans, word would get out that our spy was American. It might make the United States Department of State, the Pentagon curious. No, I don’t like that.”

“Very well,” said Colonel Cutrone. “Let’s make our fugitive a foreign spy, nationality unknown, a foreign spy who posed as an American scientist.”

“Better,” said Kedrov.

“So this foreign spy has stolen the plans for Italy’s big secret weapon,” Colonel Cutrone resumed. “He had flown into Venice to await his contact. Meanwhile, we learned what had taken place, we surrounded the spy in Venice, and now we have him trapped here. We ask the forbearance and cooperation of the entire population and all visitors until we catch him. How does that sound?”

“I like it,” Major Kedrov rasped. “I believe it.”

“Yes,” said Mayor Accardi. “Security of the nation. Very good.” His fat face clouded for an instant. “Only one thing bothers me. With the city closed down, with communication ended, what will the outside world think? We’ve got to tell them—the world press, other businesses, governments—we’ve got to tell them something.”

“I was coming to that,” said Colonel Cutrone. “We want to say as little as possible, but—yes, we must say something. There will be a brief, a terse announcement given to the wire services after daybreak today, minutes before we impose the communications blackout. We will have Mayor Accardi announce to the world that an emergency measure has just gone into effect—no traffic into or out of Venice the next few days—no further communications—until a foreign spy trapped in the city, a spy known to have stolen Italian military defense plans, is caught. As soon as he is arrested, Venice will be opened up again. That should satisfy almost everyone.”

“Not everyone,” said Mayor Accardi. “Not the press on the outside—”

“To hell with the press,” said Colonel Cutrone. “They are not our concern right now.”

“Agreed,” said Kedrov.

“Now let’s get back to the immediate business at hand.” Colonel Cutrone ran his fingers through his bushy hair, thinking, as he walked slowly back to the map. “Our hunt, to begin with daylight, will be two-pronged. First, we will enlist the population to join us in the search. We will release our cover story to the press, and to be passed around the city by word of mouth. A spy with an Italian secret. It will touch the patriotic fervor of the entire citizenry. We will also release the photograph of Professor MacDonald that Major Kedrov has brought along. We will make several thousand reproductions—for our exit guards to have handy, for merchants, for concierges, for everyone who can help. We will also print posters with MacDonald’s portrait for the populace to see wherever it turns.” He hesitated. “One problem.”

“Yes? What is it?” Mayor Accardi wanted to know.

“This MacDonald,” said Colonel Cutrone. “How do we identify him to the public? Do we say the man we want is Professor Davis MacDonald, who used his work as a gerontologist and scientist as a front for his espionage? Or do we give him another name?”

For some seconds, the questions remained unanswered.

Major Kedrov was the first to offer answers. “I see no advantage to using his real name. I see disadvantages. Some persons may know of him, of his reputation, and it would cast doubt on our cover story. Further, if the press leaked the story, MacDonald’s friends in high places would deny our cover story.”

“There need be no press leaks, not with the news blackout,” said Colonel Cutrone. He looked at Kedrov. “So we should give our fugitive another name?”

“Definitely.”

“Very well. Another name, similar but different. I once had a foreign friend, a British police officer—dead now—whose name was MacGregor. Shall we call our spy MacGregor—E. MacGregor?”

The conversion of MacDonald to MacGregor was agreeable to all parties.

“Of course,” said Superintendent Trevisan, “one or two persons may recognize the face in the posters as MacDonald.”

“What difference,” said Colonel Cutrone, “if there is a communications blackout? Later, we can say they were mistaken in identifying the foreign spy as MacDonald.”

“True,” said the police superintendent.

“So our first offensive against MacDonald today will be to bring the public in as collaborators,” continued Colonel Cutrone. “We have the great majority of our 100,000 population, plus many tourists, ready to report to us if they spot MacDonald anywhere in the city. Our second offensive takes place here—” His finger drew a slow circle around the perimeter of Venice. “A city two miles long, a mere hour and a half walk to cross it leisurely. To our advantage, 177 canals, covering twenty-eight miles, where MacDonald need not be sought intensively. There are relatively few closed boats. On the other hand, there are 3,000 alleys or small streets in this warren, adding up to ninety miles. To our disadvantage is the matter of time—these alleys and streets will have to be searched. The number of private residences to be entered? I cannot tell exactly, except that we have almost 30,000 house numbers in the city. Here you see what we call our busiest thoroughfare, the Grand Canal, which divides our city. It is 10,400 feet in length. Every foot will be patrolled. Gentlemen, we have 150,000 carabinieri in Italy. In the next day or two, as many as we choose to requisition will be in Venice, hunting and seeking our man.”

He stood back, contemplated the map, and faced the others. “Sir. We will join our carabinieri with Trevisan’s
questurini
, as well as with outside police who will be transferred here today, and except for those on a shift of guard duty at the exits, we will use our army to move from the outer edges of the city inward toward its center. Our raiding squads will methodically enter and examine personnel in every apartment, shop, café, palazzo, public building. We will continue this hunt-and-search operation every hour, slowly closing in until we have caught Professor MacDonald in our vise.” He looked out the window. “Day is coming. It is time to begin. We will not fail.”